If you say “Michael Chabon, Michael Chabon, Michael Chabon” in the
mirror that is the Internet, Ayelet Waldman appears. With an axe.
Katie Roiphe—whose first book, You’re Actually Just a Whore:
Raping Doesn’t Happen at College, was so ridiculous that she
should never have been published again—wrote
this week about her mother’s newest memoir, which sounds like a
captivating racy tale of bed-hopping in 1960s literary New York,
thought it’s also an excuse for Roiphe to further her latest
interests, the perceived virility or flaccidity of the male
novelist. In related news, there was an n+1 party this
week.